


Reading Between The Lines

by athaclena



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Castiel in the Bunker, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Romance, Shipping, Spoilers for various MCU films, mentions of stucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:10:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9395042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athaclena/pseuds/athaclena
Summary: Film nights in the bunker take on a more introspective tone when Castiel starts getting a little too involved in the story of the Winter Soldier.Words are tricky. Sometimes it's easier to talk about yourself when you pretend you're talking about someone else. Sometimes, you have to hear what isn't being said.Contains spoilers for Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Avengers: Age of Ultron, and Captain America: Civil War. A lot of spoilers.





	

Sam crashed out early and it's just Cas and Dean now, watching The Winter Soldier and eating popcorn (Dean, salted caramel because he's feeling fancy) and pork rinds (Cas, pretending they don't taste of molecules). Cas knows what's happening because Metadouche downloaded it into him, of course, which takes a lot of the fun out of it, but there's a difference between knowing and experiencing and - 

Cas is rigid on the couch next to Dean, jaw clenching, some undefinable emotion flickering across his eyes. “Why is Bucky doing that? He must know it's Steve. Why does he keep on hurting him?” His voice is grating, full of anger and pain that sometimes Dean feels only he can discern, and there's something going on here that's more than just Cas getting really into the story.

Bucky's fist connects with Cap's face again and Cas flinches. “Why isn't he fighting back? Why won't he fight back? I don't understand.”

“Film's not over. Just keep watching.” Dean can't think of anything else to say.

Cas relaxes a little after Bucky pulls Cap out of the river, and Dean's at it too, now, memories of his own life flashing back to interfere with the film. Cas dissolving, his face a horror. Finally seeing him in Purgatory.

End of the film and Cas is still sitting there in silence. Dean has to say something. “I think, maybe, Cap lo- cared about him too much to keep fighting him. Guess we both know what that's like, huh?” His right arm spasms and he rubs at his forearm, free of the Mark but not of the memory.

Cas's eyes trace around Dean's eye socket and cheekbones, terrible sorrow and guilt briefly shining in them before he shuts it down, good little angels don't feel either one. “I – yes. You're right.” He does the head-tilt squinty thing, looking at Dean properly now. “You look like him,” he says softly. “You remind me of Captain America.”

“Pff,” Dean scoffs automatically. “He's got nothing on me.” He gives Cas his best Blue Steel, and Cas's eyes widen slightly. Only noticeable to someone staring right into his eyes. (Like Dean is. Like Dean always is.)

“I wasn't making a value judgement about who is the more attractive,” Cas says primly, amusement dancing in his eyes, the twitch of his lips. “Although I note that your gluteus maximus is less tight than Chris Evans' is.”

“Did – did you just call my ass fat? Dude. Not cool.” Dean's very good at controlling his face, and he doesn't blush. Not at the insult. Nor at the implication that Cas has noticed his ass enough to compare it. Not now, anyway.

They bicker their way to bed – Cas doesn't sleep, but he likes to lie on a bed to recharge, likes to be “part of the human diurnal rhythm” – and it's only when the door closes and Dean's by himself that he can really process what happpened properly. Cas getting overly involved in other people's stories is nothing new; Cas feeling guilt is nothing new; but Cas letting it spill out so much, Cas being fragile and showing how much he blames himself, that's new. Or, well, not new, but not normal.

None of them talk much about Crazy Cas. Dean remembers, though, with no small amount of guilt of his own at how he treated him. And this thing, what just happened, it feels more like playing Sorry, naked and covered in bees Cas than scary warrior of the Lord Cas. Which is worrying.

So he treats Cas carefully over the next few days. Not mother henning, exactly – little difficult to do that to someone who doesn't need to eat, drink, sleep, or piss – but just making sure he's involved, and trying to do nice things for him. He finds a novelty t-shirt in a shitty gas station that has “Blue Eyed Angel” on it, and he buys it for Cas after he stops laughing. (With real money, not a stolen credit card. Admittedly real money he won hustling pool, but whatever.) He gets black salt from some hipster food shop, under the pretense of seeing if it's functionally different than regular salt, but actually because maybe these molecules taste better. He finds a handkerchief in a garage sale, a proper cloth one, exactly the shade of Cas's tie.

Cas rolls his eyes at the t-shirt, but it goes into his clothes drawer all the same. The salt is less successful – molecules are still molecules – but Cas says it should work better in some spells, and he seemed pretty interested in it, so Dean's still gonna count that as a win. And the handkerchief makes its way into Cas's pocket with a small smile and a sincere “Thank you, Dean,” that has Dean rubbing the back of his neck and refusing to meet anyone in the eyes for a while.

Sam notices, because of course he does, and he corners Dean about it when Cas is off on a food run (“I believe I owe you some pie”). “Dude, what gives? Is something wrong with Cas? You're being all...” he waves his giant hands about vaguely, “all careful and nice and stuff to Cas. Did someone die? Is Claire okay?”

Dean is oddly reluctant to give all of the details; it feels sort of like a betrayal of confidence. “Uh, no, he just seemed a little off a couple nights back and I just, I want to make him feel, well, you know. Like he's part of the team. Like we... like we care.”

Sam does that taken aback blinking thing that Dean secretly loves being able to surprise out of him. “Oh. Well, yeah, I mean, we do, so no problem there. Was there – did he say something to you?”

“Not... in so many words. More of a feeling type-thing. You know. Intuition. Reading between the lines.” They're both good at that, they both learned how to read vics and law enforcement and suspects real early in their hunting careers. Sam is better, maybe, it's less awkward for him, he's in touch with his feelings and crap like that but Dean's damn good at it, when he's able to be. When his head's not shoved up his ass, or he's not buzzed, or his thoughts aren't whirling.

“Right,” Sam says, and for a wonder there's no suspicion in his eyes. Like he thinks that Dean can read Cas. Like he trusts Dean's opinion about what's going on inside that strange noggin. “So I should let him pick the movie tonight, then? And, oh, get this, I'll ask him about the Akkadian translations, he always loves correcting my grammar. But it's just poetry. Really interesting poetry, actually, Dean, you should take a read of it after I'm finished, it's a fascinating look into an ancient monster hunter's retirement told in verse. Not much useful information but the metre is really great. Anyway, uh, I figure Cas'll like talking about the literature and history stuff.”

“I'll check that out, sure,” with an ostentatious eye-roll leading to a huff from Sam, but it's part of their routine, and they both enjoy it. Also Dean actually might check it out. Poetry's not really his thing but he can appreciate it sometimes. He won't tell Sam, obviously, but he makes a mental note to scour through it later on.

Cas comes back with not one but two pies, which Dean digs into with a happy smile on his face the whole time. And Sam makes good on his promise, getting Cas involved in the poem translation – Sam's grammar is, as Cas points out, atrocious but he's better at getting the rhythm across. They argue over idioms for so long Dean falls asleep at the table and wakes up to find small paper aeroplanes in his hair and scattered around his vicinity. Neither of them admit to it, but both of them are suppressing grins. Traitors.

It's all to the good though. Cas seems more relaxed and happier in himself again, his smile as easy as it ever gets. He even takes his jacket off and rolls his sleeves up, which makes Dean rub the back of his neck again and try not to think about what the skin on those smooth forearms must feel like.

The movie Cas picks is Age of Ultron, and they all settle in, snacks to hand (more pie for Dean, weird twirly chip things apparently made from hummus for Sam, and more pork rinds for Cas) and beers at their elbows. This one is, well, it's less good than the first one but it's still a fun ride. The Olsen chick is pretty great, and even though ScarJo always makes Dean miss Charlie something fierce, she's badass as Black Widow.

Pietro's death (sacrifice?) makes him and Sam both a little quiet, but Cas mostly keeps his commentary to a minimum. Minimal bitching about the fake country, and none at all about the weird Asgard stuff and the creation of Vision. They go to bed that night full and happy, and Dean starts to relax again.

Next hunt is a pain in the ass, some juiced up werewolves terrorising a town, and they're lucky to come out of it unbitten – Cas throws Dean out of the way of a descending set of teeth, hard, into a tree, and he's damn glad Cas has his juice back because he feels something in his spine snap and his limbs go dead at the hit, lying tangled in a pool of leaves and blood, and Cas's face when he heals him is white with fear and self-loathing.

“Honestly, Cas, it's no big deal,” Dean tries to reassure him, but he's still shaking and rubbing his hands together to test his nerves work again, so he thinks it maybe isn't that convincing. Cas apologises so many times Dean starts changing the subject every time he hears the words “I'm sorry”. Sam doesn't realise exactly what happened, just thinks he got regular injured, which is for the best, he'd probably be pissy about it.

They pick up word of a wendigo on the way back home, and it's off into another dank cave filled with little crunching bones – seems this one fed on a scout troupe back in the fifties, and Dean's heart breaks for the kids. There were two survivors, terrified and nearly catatonic, and he and Sam split up to see them – old men, now, one in an institution and the other an aging hippy with a heavy weed habit.

Sam takes the hippy, leaving Cas and Dean in another asylum. This one is quiet and green, very calming, but the guy they're here for is barely coherent any more, lost in his own survivor's guilt and half-forgotten nightmares. Cas does what he can, but the guy is basically a traumatised child locked in an old man's body, and he's at a loss. So Dean takes over, speaking to him like he's still a little kid, letting him know that the bad thing is definitely dead, and that it wasn't his fault.

Dean can't speak when it's done for fear of his emotions spilling out all over his face, but Cas is at his side, steady and strong, and he tells the nurses to remind the kid that the bad thing is dead if he gets scared, and that it's not a lie. Probably uses some mojo to get them to accept it, but hopefully it'll help, for whatever life the kid has left. He doesn't try to make Dean talk, just grips his shoulder tight and lets Dean find some measure of calm under the warmth of his hand.

Sam had a grand old time with his guy, getting picked up smelling strongly of smoke and weed, with reddened eyes and a case of the munchies – Dean rolls his eyes but lets him enjoy the high. He does exile Sam to the back seat though. He's petty like that. Besides, he still wants Cas beside him for a time, he's selfish as well as petty. The radio plays stoner rock, Sam falls asleep, and Cas is right there, close enough to touch if Dean needs to.

Back at the bunker, Dean has to fight the urge to wash away the memories with whiskey; he throws himself into cleaning the shower room instead, emerging in a better state of mind and with no fingerprints left from all of the bleach. He cleans the oven afterwards – might as well scour his fingers some more – and sends the others for victory pizza. Still feels like a hollow victory, a little, but they did win, and the werewolves and wendigo are all dead.

He's cleaned so hard that by the time Sam and Cas come back with the pizza his hands are cracked and bleeding from the various chemicals, which he only notices when he starts leaving little blood spots on the counter. Cas frowns at him and places two fingers on his head, the familiar rush of warmth and light making Dean's hands better than new.

Cas grabs his hands anyway and peers at them. “Were you trying to destroy your fingerprints? I can give you some new ones if you prefer.”

His hands are soft and warm, holding Dean's calloused and thickened ones with care, and it takes Dean a moment to remember how to use words. “No, it was just from the bleach, I probably shoulda worn gloves. Um. Thanks for the offer though.”

Cas is still looking at him intently. “We should watch another film over pizza. There's another Captain America one, I believe.” He leads Dean gently to the couch and sits him down and Dean realises that he's being babied, here, just like he was doing to Cas a few days ago. He doesn't think he needs to be, but he kind of likes it when Cas does it, so he lets it slide, sitting next to Cas and relaxing.

Civil War is good – much better than Age of Ultron – and Cas gets into it real quick once Bucky gets on-screen. Sam sees the concentration and intensity in Cas's eyes and smiles at him. “You're watching this almost as hard as a shipping fangirl would,” he comments off-handedly, and Dean tries not to wince.

“Stucky is much more plausible than Stony,” Cas responds gravely, eating some black-salt popcorn (Dean found another use for it) but not letting his gaze wander from the screen. Sam nearly falls off his chair laughing.

The big fight at the end of the film has Cas on the edge of his seat, and Dean wonders why he's identifying so much with Bucky – oh. Right. That actually isn't hard to work out. Brainwashed warrior forced into murders against his will. Right. There's even a faint visual similarity, around the eyes and cheekbones, although Cas is a lot less ripped than the Winter Soldier.

Sam retreats to the library after the film ends, shooting puppy-dog eyes at Dean with a brief nod to the still-silent Cas, to which Dean rolls his eyes but assents. “So, you like the film?” He's shooting for casual but the question can't help but be loaded with meaning, after last time and this.

Cas sighs. There's a plaintive note in it to Dean's ear, a need for reassurance: Cas is showing his vulnerability. That's rare. “Which argument was more compelling to you? Steve Rogers' or Tony Stark's?”

“I'm Team Cap,” Dean says without thinking, and then he pauses and tries to see it from Cas's point of view and - “I don't think that Bucky deserved to die for something he couldn't control or stop. He was turned into a weapon, and it's not – it's not the fault of the weapon.” He has to clear his throat at the end of that. Could stand to believe it a little more about himself, some days.

Cas looks at him sharply at that, his eyes turning molten and concerned. “Of course not.”

Dean forges on cautiously, “I mean, it sort of seems like he had a choice what to do sometimes, but they brainwashed him. Over, like, a really long time. So it wasn't his fault. He shouldn't be punished for that.”

“I – do you really think so?” Uncertainty, fear and hope war in Cas's face.

“I really do. I mean I kinda have to if I wanna be able to look in the mirror, right?” Dean gestures to his right arm with a grimace. “But, you know, about – about Bucky, or anyone who was in a situation like Bucky's, then – yeah. No need for punishment or guilt or revenge. Only forgiveness.”

Cas's face goes blank for a second, always does when he's overwhelmed with emotions he can barely name, this isn't his only body and certainly not his first, before he blinks slowly and gives Dean another one of those tiny perfect smiles. “This is why you remind me of Captain America. You are a very good man, Dean Winchester.”

Dean's legitimately torn between trying to deny it and trying to push away the feelings (ugh) with a quip about chick-flick moments but he's saved from his indecision by Sam popping his head in the door. “I'm gonna hit the sack, guys, see you in the morning.”

Before Dean gets a chance to choose though, Cas forges on. “I know you don't believe it of yourself, Dean, but I do. And your brother does. Please credit us with enough intelligence to be right, at least.”

Under the laser focus of those vivd blue eyes Dean is pinned and helpless, but he he can't bring himself to lash out properly, he doesn't want to need any more forgiveness right now for being a dick – doesn't want to hurt Cas like that, if he's really honest with himself – so instead he deflects it back. “You can't say that about me if it ain't true about you too.”

Cas meets Dean's scowl with one of his own. “My crimes are greater than you could possibly understand,” he growls, and the hairs on the back of Dean's neck rise even as his heart sinks.

There's silence for a time until Dean sighs. “I say the same thing to Sam. Kid still speaks to me. Still, uh. Forgives me.”

A huffy sigh worthy of Sam comes from Cas. “Fine. You forgive me for something I can't be forgiven for, and I forgive you for something perfectly understandble – oh, very well, Dean,” at Dean's heavy frown and indrawn breath, “we each forgive the other for things that we cannot forgive ourselves.”

“Fine,” grunts Dean, crossing his arms and sulking a little bit, like a grown-ass man. Seems he's a little bit lighter for the thought, though. Little bit less weighted down. He meets Cas's eyes and sees the same grudging acceptance and acknowledgement that's in his own.

Dean sleeps easier that night than he has done in months, years maybe, and wakes up refreshed and perky for the next few days. Cas seems pretty good too, as happy as he ever really gets, and everything's good for a few days.

Until Sam puts his giant foot in it, as per freakin' usual. It starts with a questions about (Jesus fuck) Stucky and Stony, and rambles on from there into a long-ass complicated discussion about shipping and fan service and stuff Dean tries very hard not to hear, frankly, which turns out to be a terrible idea because by the end of it Sam is telling Cas “Shipping is a terrible idea, Cas, it leads to all kinds of awful stuff, the fans get really obsessed, and it's – it's just not healthy to hope for the impossible. They're not even real people. They don't matter.”

Cas shrinks into himself so much even Sam can see that something is wrong, shuffling out of the kitchen with a mumbled excuse. Dean gives Sam a withering look and cuts off his apology with a curt, “Not to me, Sammy, and not now.”

Bunker's big enough to hide in for a while but Dean's pretty sure Cas is thinking of his wings right now, wishing he could use them again, so he's either in the garage (next best thing) or outside (looking broodingly at the sky). One's on the way to the other, but Cas isn't here and all the cars are, so Dean tries to think like an animal hunter and follows his trail outside.

Doesn't lead far. Cas has gone a ways down the road and is sitting on a log looking (called it) broodingly up at the sky. Dean wanders up and sits next to him casually, wishing he'd thought to bring a couple beers.

“What's up?”

Line like that, he expects some sarcasm (another thing Cas mastered too well), but all he gets is an intent look. “Is he right?”

Dean sighs. “Sam's, uh, got some issues with fangirls, after this one spell that – come to think of it, actually, that was kinda rape. Anyway. So he's pretty down on the whole thing.” He sighs again. “And he's wrong about them not mattering, either. Stories are important. Funny story, one time we were on a case and these schoolkids were putting on a musical of our lives and it was – well. One of them, she uh, she told me how much the stories had meant to her. Well. Our stories had meant to her. Even though they were shitty. So ignore him, he's talking out his ass.”

“I imagine I would be able to tell the difference between speech and flatulence, Dean,” Cas snaps back, but him being sassy is definitely an improvement, and Dean just grins at him, unrepentant.

“Not with Sam,” he replies cheerfully.

“His lower digestive tract is very loud,” nods Cas, and Dean shouts a surprised laugh, slapping Cas on the back in glee.

Happiness makes Dean reckless. “So, do you think Cap and Bucky should be together, then?” Casual as he can. Takes some effort.

And Cas just looks at him and says, “Yes, on balance. It wouldn't be easy, of course.”

“Lot of history there,” Dean nods, mouth going dry, hands going damp.

“A lot of things that might try to use them against each other.” This close, starlight reflects off Cas's eyes.

“Guess neither of them would think that they deserved it,” and Dean's voice is going hoarse, now, he thinks he's trembling.

“But both of them believe that the other is wrong about that,” Cas murmurs back, and he's so close now Dean can feel his breath.

What the hell. They both saved the world, right? Maybe, dangerously positive thought here, maybe they do both deserve something that they both want. Even if they are still using comic-book characters to talk about it. (Charlie would've been proud. Maybe, one day, he can tell her.)

Dean reaches the last inch and cups the side of Cas's face gently with his hand, careful as if he were made of glass, and Cas's lips part as they move towards each other and – the kiss is soft, and long, and Cas tastes like nothing Dean has words for. Like light, maybe. Like Grace.

He's imagined this before a thousand times – backed up against a motel door, with his last breath on the battlefield, Cas blowing out lights or summoning his wings, in the back seat of the Impala, after rescuing one or the other of them – but this is it, sitting on a log stars overhead road at their feet, and it's sort of perfect. Well, okay, scratch that. This is personal heaven perfect.

Wait. Shit. Dean jerks back in a panic and looks at Cas wide-eyed, Cas's face falling in horror and fear. “Wait, did I die? Is this Heaven? Is that – I mean is this -”

Cas glares at him, which is a lot more intimidating this close than it is usually. “You ruined our first kiss because you thought you might be dead?”

“Well, because it was so good,” defends Dean, “and because I didn't think I'd ever get to, and -”

Turns out their second kiss is pretty damn perfect, too.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been really blocked on another fic and I crave feedback and validation, so here is this one-shot. Tra-la! Hope you liked it.
> 
> Some notes: I apologise about Sam being down on fans. I think he was just having a bad day. (I do not apologise for being cheesy though. Or for shipping Stucky.)


End file.
